Free The Revival by Chris Weitz

you.”
    I stand there hoping, as people decide. It’s kinda like in the Lord of the Rings? When one group goes to Mordor and the other goes to that big castle place. It’s like everybody has to decide: Will it be A plot or B plot? And which one is the A plot? Well, maybe I can be excused for thinking it’s
me
, even if it doesn’t involve saving the world from destruction. So who else is coming?
    Maybe, just maybe I care more about what Jefferson is going to do than anybody else. And maybe his decision is really about whether we’ll have a future together. And maybe, even though I know he is all about the Big Picture, I want him to be about the small picture, which is actually, in fact, the big picture as far as everyone we might actually help is concerned.
    Jefferson: “I’m with you.” He reaches out his hand, touches mine lightly.
    Maybe that matters a lot.
    Kath: “Me too, I guess. I think you can take it as a given that these little creeps are along for the ride.” She gestures at the Thrill Kill Twins, who practically wag their tails.
    The Gurkha takes a step toward me.
    Guja: “Wakefield said you stay with us.” His hand reaches for his knife, the locus of his authority. But then he finds Titch’s giant mitt resting on his shoulder.
    Titch: “I don’t think so, Guja. I reckon this is her call.”
    Guja looks to Wakefield, who suddenly seems thwarted. I’m not too sure about the command structure here. Maybe I thought Wakefield was the guy in charge because Titch is ginormous and working-class and Wakefield is human-size and fancy. But Titch is working for the Reconstruction Committee, at least for the spy guys who work with them. I guess Wakefield is just regular army.
    Wakefield: “There’s no question of delaying. And we need a local guide. That’s why they’re here in the first place.”
    Then, a surprise.
    Peter: “I’ll stay with you, Colonel.” Instead of meeting my eyes, he looks at his shoes, which frankly aren’t much to look at, bedraggled navy-issue sneakers covered in filth.
    Me: “Really?”
    He finally looks back up.
    Peter: “He’s right. They’re gonna need a guide. Besides, I have to. You understand?”
    At first, no. But then it makes sense after a second. He means he has to deal with Chapel.
    Me: “Petra—”
    Peter: “No advice, please. No tough love. I know. He was using me. I know there’s nothing to be said. But… Look. He fooled me. He fooled all of us. Right? Well, somebody has to hold him to account. If not, and that fool Evan becomes, like, some kind of supervillain, I’ll never be able to live with myself.”
    Damn it, I’m crying again, in front of these old-world tough guys and the people I’m supposed to lead into battle. But the feels don’t care, my eyes don’t care. Come to think of it, I don’t care. Too much has happened for it to matter whether it’s good management style.
    And there’s good reason to cry. Maybe I won’t ever see Petra again. In this place, you say good-bye to somebody, it’s just as likely it’ll be forever.
    Wakefield is satisfied with the deal. Maybe he’s relieved to be rid of me. I hug Peter a long time. Then I turn to go. But there’s another surprise to come.
    Rab: “I’m coming with you.”
    Oh, no he didn’t.
    Me: “This isn’t your problem.” Besides which, I’m not sure I actually want him along. The mission is challenging enough without balancing a love triangle on my shoulders. Plus, I hate him. Right?
    Rab’s eyes narrow. Calculating.
    Rab: “We made an investment in you. I’m just keeping an eye on it.” But he says it in a way that makes it seem like he hardly means it. Like he’s speaking for the benefit of Titch and Wakefield, not for me. “Besides, we need to keep our communications open.